The Dwelling: A Novel by Susie Moloney

and it went away before he’d really even thought it through.
    Around him, the house went about its business.
    In front of him, the Reporter came to life, taking on form and feature, growing in detail, both visually and in character. She was quiet, but every emotion showed on her face; she liked jazz and dark rooms; she had a weakness for the wrong men; she was in love with the Headhunter. She was not as innocent as she looked. She looked very innocent. The last sketch betrayed that best. Her mouth was twisted up at the corner, in a smile that knew. At some point, he had a name.
    Maggie.
    Something moved in the attic, a shuffle across the floor. A door slid open in one of the bedrooms. Water in the tub drained. A whiff of fresh hay. Dan hummed, aware of nothing but (his own) breathing.
    After you’ve gone…
     
    Becca’s hands were shaking as she stood in front of Gordon Huff’s solid oak door. His name was stamped into a brass plate just above eye level. She checked her watch. It was one minute before ten. She rapped twice on the door, willing herself to relax.
    “Come in, Rebecca,” he called from behind the door. It was muffled. But she’d heard him say her name. That heartened her. She pushed the door open, her face a fiercely willed mask of efficiency and determination.
    “Mr. Huff,” she said firmly, nodding once. No wasted motions. In her mind she repeated, Director of Patient Services, Director of Patient Services.
    “Sit down, Rebecca,” he said, waving toward a large chair angled to his desk. He leaned forward as she sat (and she leaned forward as she sat, willing her face not to blush, not to heat, not to redden even as she did, shamelessly). “What can I do for you?” He looked her straight in the eye. He was not an unkind man; this she already knew. He was not unattractive, either. He was about fifty or so, and had not run to fat as some executives did. He was married, of course. Becca knew nothing of his family. Theirs was not a company of family picnics, Christmas parties or retreats. For that she was truly grateful.
    “Thank you for seeing me,” she began steadily. “I understand the director’s position in Patient Services is opening up. I’d like to put myself forward.” She was firm, but not aggressive. She smiled to soften the words, but not servilely. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she was sure he could see it, or at least hear it.
    He nodded thoughtfully. “How long have you been with the Center, Rebecca?”
    “I started in Nutrition right out of college, Mr. Huff. I’ve been here six years. I was committee head two years after I started with the company, and I now hold—as you know—” her hands continued to shake, and she held them tightly in her lap where he couldn’t see them “—an executive assistant position in Patient Services.” It came out in one fast breath. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. She smiled warmly, she hoped. “I’m just one position under director now.” She said, “It’s the logical next step. I’ve worked closely with Mr. Anderson. I have experience.”
    Gordon Huff raised an eyebrow and allowed her a small smile that faded quickly. There was a pause during which Becca’s heart resumed its serious thudding. She swallowed. Her mouth was filling up with saliva.
    “I have an updated résumé in my desk. I can put it in your mailbox, if necessary,” she said.
    Mr. Huff nodded. “You understand that there are six other exec assistants, equally qualified, also applying for the position.”
    Was he testing her? “They are all from other departments.”
    “Tom Higgins is from your department, Rebecca, and he’s also expressed an interest. I’m not saying anything at this point. Decisions won’t be made until the end of the month, as you know. And it isn’t entirely up to me. There’s a committee that will choose among the qualified candidates. All of your qualifications will be taken into account.”
    “I’d like a recommendation